Thursday
by DragonLady37
Summary: It had been three weeks since Hermione had worked up the courage to tell Draco how she felt, which meant it had been three weeks since she'd seen him or spoken to him face to face, because it had been three weeks, to the day, that he'd shot her down. / EWE, Dramione


**Bella Luna 92 hasn't seen this, but she will! Until then, I hope you enjoy this little fic that popped in my head!**

**JK Rowling owns all of this. I'm just visiting.**

* * *

It had been three weeks since Hermione had worked up the courage to tell Draco how she felt, which meant it had been three weeks since she'd seen him or spoken to him face to face, because it had been three weeks, to the day, that he'd shot her down.

After months and months and _months_ of harboring secret feelings, and after months and months and _months_ of a solid, lovely friendship, she'd gone and mucked it all up with a few words, spilled into the open air after too much wine.

Thinking about it now made her face burn with shame and embarrassment. She shoved her hair back into a messy, knotted bun and roughly scrubbed her face with a soapy cloth. Face dripping, she stared at herself in the mirror and couldn't stop the memory of that night - blurry though it was from wine and butterbeer - from replaying in her mind.

* * *

Hermione laughed, cheeks pink, as Draco told yet another unbelievable story about his work as a healer. They did this every Thursday - met up at her flat, ate Muggle take-out, drank, and recounted stories from their week. They'd done this since they'd become real friends, a couple of years before.

Thursdays were Hermione's favorite day of the week.

"I just can't believe that a grown man would manage to get an entire bottle of elf wine stuck - " She paused and burst out laughing. Draco just took another sip of his Muggle wine and smiled.

"Believe it. And this week was a _mild_ one." He smirked and sipped his wine again, looking completely at ease at her small dining table, as if he'd been her friend, eating meals with her and sharing stories, for their whole lives.

"You're so full of it," she said, shaking her head and pushing her mostly-empty plate away.

"No. He was so full of it," Draco deadpanned.

There was a beat of silence before they both burst out laughing, gripping the table for support.

* * *

After dinner, they migrated to the living room, which doubled as a library. They'd spent many Thursdays, after dinner, talking about books and comparing notes. On this night, they brought bottles of ice-cold butterbeer with them and each took up a seat on opposite ends of her couch, facing one another with a single knee bent. The fire was going, low and steady, just like their conversation.

Hermione watched Draco during a lull in the conversation, her cheeks pink, and felt a combination of joy and sadness. It wasn't an unusual feeling for her to have when they were together.

"So, tell me this, Granger," Draco said, sipping his butterbeer slowly as he watched her in the fading firelight. She watched the bottle press into his bottom lip and flushed lightly, grateful the fire was going so she'd have an excuse for pink cheeks. "When are you going to let some wizard sweep you off your feet?" His voice was gruff and he sipped his drink again.

Hermione's heart thudded suddenly and painfully in her chest. "Excuse me?" She asked, trembling. "Where did a question like that come from?"

"I'm just trying to prepare myself. This - you and me and Thursdays - only works until some wizard steps in and steals you away." He sipped his butterbeer again, trying for casual and failing. His knuckles were white around the bottle.

Hermione was speechless. At this point in the evening, she was more than a little buzzed and in her inebriated state, this moment felt like an opening for something she'd so far only dreamed about. Hermione Granger was a Gryffindor through and through, and in spite of how nervous she felt, if there was an opening, she would take it.

She cleared her throat. "Well." She sat her butterbeer on the coffee table and cleared her throat again. "That's something I'd actually like to talk to you about."

Draco's smirk fell and his neutral mask - the one he only wore when he wasn't sure what was going to happen or he was afraid - fell into place. He set his drink on the table and clasped his hands on his lap. All of this gave Hermione hope, that maybe they were nervous for the same reasons.

"You've met someone, then." He said it without any sort of positive or negative inflection, but Hermione imagined she saw some sort of disappointment in his eyes. His voice lacked its usual playful edge.

"Yes. No. Well, sort of." Her cheeks flushed as she stumbled over her words. "Draco," she shifted on the couch so that she was leaning toward him slightly. "I need to ask you - what do you think of me? As a woman." She swallowed her nerves against her rapidly beating heart.

His eyebrows went into his hairline. "What sort of question is that?" His voice was neutral.

"Just, answer. Please." She folded her hands, mimicking him, to keep them from visibly trembling.

"What do I think of you?" His cheek twitched. "As a woman," he breathed.

Hermione nodded and a curl fell loose from her messy ponytail. Draco's hand twitched and she imagined he might want to reach up and touch it.

"I think you're brilliant." He cleared his throat lightly. "Funny. Aggressive and protective of those you care about - "

"As a _woman_," she pressed, leaning forward a little more, suddenly nervous.

Draco breathed heavily through his nose. "What does that even mean?" he asked, irritation clear.

Hermione sat up straight and tucked the stray hair behind her ear. "Do you think I'm pretty?" Her voice was quiet and in spite of her best efforts, she turned strawberry red as soon as the question passed her lips.

"That's - Granger. What - " he huffed, his own cheeks suddenly red. He raked his fingers through his hair. "Of _course _I think you're pretty. You're bloody gorgeous." He sat back, flustered. "I don't see what that - "

"And you like me, right?" She flushed crimson with her rushed question. "Spending time with me, I mean. You like spending time with me. Yeah?"

"You know I do." He grimaced. "But I don't see what - "

"I think we should go on a date," she practically yelled. Her heart was a hummingbird in her chest and her skin tingled as if an electric current was running through it.

The room went silent. He sat, mouth gaping.

"I know I'm not like the girls you usually date," she scrambled, hands fidgeting nervously, "but I thought - "

"This is silly," he said, eyes wide, cheeks pink. "Granger, we're friends and we've been drinking. You're my _best _friend. Let's talk about - "

But she was already up, shaking her head, hands covering her overheated cheeks as the mortification set in.

"Right. Of course." She laughed falsely. "Listen," she turned away from him under the pretense of straightening up the few books and bottles on the coffee table. "That was just the wine, you know?" She forced another laugh and picked up her butterbeer bottle - mostly empty - to hide her shaking hands. "But, I have an early day tomorrow. Can you see yourself out? I didn't realize it was quite so late." She took a breath and turned and smiled at him a little too brightly.

"Granger." He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Hermione."

"I'll see you next week." She smiled even more broadly - so broadly it hurt.

He took a step toward her, and she waved, butterbeer in hand. He sighed and nodded, his blonde hair falling in front of his eyes. She turned and walked quickly into the kitchen without waiting for him to actually leave.

She leaned on the counter, holding her breath until she heard the floo roar to life. She waited a beat after the sound faded away, then she slouched forward, letting her head fall to her forearms as shame and heartbreak coursed through her.

* * *

That was three weeks ago, to the day. She'd told him, the last two weeks, that she was too busy for him to com over. He'd tried to reschedule, to meet with her for lunch, for coffee, to talk about their last conversation, but she'd brushed it off. She wasn't ready to face him, to face the truth of her revelation - she'd told him how she felt, put herself out there, and he'd rejected her. Plain and simple.

And now it was Thursday again - her third without seeing him - and she was absolutely and utterly miserable. She finished washing her face, then pulled on her most comfortable pajamas - a pair of Slytherin sweats that had been his but had shrunk in the wash the first time he'd used a Muggle machine and she'd inherited amidst much teasing, and an old Gryffindor tee shirt.

She stared in the mirror and sighed. It was 6:30. On a normal Thursday, he would be arriving in the next half hour or so with containers of Chinese or Italian or Thai. She would be nervously waiting for him and then talking and laughing with him for at least a couple of hours. Instead, she had an appointment with a pint of ice cream and a terrible movie while he was off doing something else - on a date, maybe. The thought made her stomach hurt.

She sat on her couch, skipping dinner in favor of a pint of triple chocolate ice cream, and hit play on the romantic comedy she'd randomly selected.

By the time her ice cream was gone, the movie was barely halfway over and she couldn't stand to watch anymore. She clicked her telly off, put her spoon in the sink and the carton in the rubbish bin, then returned to the couch intending on curling up with a blanket and a book. But not even a book could hold her attention. She'd just given up on the idea of reading - something she never thought she'd ever do - when a knock on her door sounded through the small space.

After Draco left three weeks earlier, she'd locked her floo to anything except calls. That kept most visitors away. No one - not Draco, not Harry, not Ron - ever traveled into Muggle London on foot to see her.

With her blanket pulled around her shoulders, she padded, barefoot, to the door and looked through the peephole. She jumped back, the blanket falling to the ground, heart racing, when she saw Dracon on the other side, containers of Chinese food in hand and a nervous look on his face.

He knocked again, and through the door, he said, "Come on, Granger. I know you're in there. The food's getting cold."

With a deep breath and hands that once again shook, she unlocked the door by hand and opened it. Draco stood there, looking as handsome as ever in his black tee-shirt and dark jeans, and smiled at her with one side of his mouth as if this were any other night.

"Can I come in?" he asked, holding up the food.

With a sigh she nodded and stepped aside, acutely aware of how awful she looked in her ragged pajamas and unbrushed hair. At least she'd thrown her ice cream container away, so there was no evidence of her emotional eating.

He stepped past her and she picked up her blanket and followed him into the kitchen. He started to sit out their food, as he normally did, but Hermione sighed loudly and he stopped.

"I told you I was busy tonight, Draco." She clutched the wadded blanket in front of her like a shield.

"Clearly," he said, lifting one eyebrow before turning back to the food.

"Draco, I'm serious. I can't hang out tonight." She straightened her spine.

He turned to her slowly, then leaned back on the counter. "Why not?"

"I'm busy," she said, setting her jaw, angry that just _seeing_ him made her heart race.

"Doing laundry?" he asked, motioning to her pajamas. "Cleaning your apartment?" he motioned toward the sink with dishes. "Or just avoiding me?" He crossed his arms and had the gall to look irritated with her.

"Draco - "

"No." He said taking a step toward her. "No, ok? You aren't allowed to avoid me. We're going to have our Thursday evening take-out and we're going to go back to normal. I need us to go back to normal!" His voice was rising in pitch and volume and Hermione scowled.

"I don't know if I _can,_" she said, her voice deadly quiet.

"What?" he asked, blanching.

"It's just," she sighed, feeling three weeks of anxiety bubble forth as more words escaped her lips without her express permission. "I don't want to do this, OK? I really embarrassed myself last time you were here. I bollocksed up our friendship, and now I can't just _go back to normal,_ because we _both _know how I feel now. And we both know how you feel. And those two things just don't go together at the moment." She hated the tears that welled in her eyes. "So, just, please. Go. OK? Let me lick my wounds and I'll write you soon and we'll get back to normal. Some time."

"No." He crossed his arms again.

"No?" she asked, blanket dangling from her fingers. "What do you mean, _no?_"

"I mean, no." He sat at the table and picked up his chopsticks. "Our friendship is fine and it's Thursday and your food is getting cold."

She stared at him and he stared back, daring her to do something. So, she woodenly sat and picked up her own chopsticks.

"How was work?" he asked around a bite of chicken and broccoli, his voice muffled.

"Fine," she said, staring at the boxes of takeout. She looked up at him and that familiar feeling of longing and sadness washed over her, and suddenly she was overcome with anger. "No, wait." She slammed her chopsticks down. "No, OK? The last time - I told you how I felt, and you shot me down. That _hurt_, OK? It hurt. And I'm not ready to sit and pretend it didn't happen." Her voice was loud and shrill and she didn't care.

"Granger," he sighed. "One day, some wizard is going to come along, and is going to make you so happy, and - "

"Just stop," she said, traitorous tears filling her eyes. "I can't hear you say that. I accept that you don't want to be with me. I understand. But don't sit there and try to make me feel better about being rejected with such trite bullshite." A single tear fell and she wiped it away angrily.

"Why are you being so stubborn about this?" he asked, gritting his teeth. "This is ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" Hermione said, anger filling her up. "Just the _thought _of being with me is _ridiculous?_" She stood then, food forgotten, and stormed into the living room. She could feel her heartbeat in her fingertips.

He growled as he followed her, chair scraping back loudly. "Will you just stop for a minute?" he asked, grabbing her arm, but she pulled away, angry tears welling.

"Why?" she asked, spinning toward him. "You say I'm your best friend, but then you say the thought of going on a _date _with me is _ridiculous._ How should that make me feel, Draco? Tell me." Her voice wavered.

"If you'd let me get a word in - "

"You can say whatever you want - " she spat back.

"Hermione!" he yelled, grabbing her shoulders,

"What?" she yelled back.

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes wild, and then his lips crashed against hers. She was shocked, frozen, and his lips on hers were hard. And then, as quickly as it started, he stepped away.

"Bloody hell," he said, running both hands through his hair, his face angry. "Dammit, Hermione!" he yelled before he started pacing.

"What was that?" she asked, cheeks pink, eyes wide. "I thought dating me would be ridiculous. I thought - "

"Don't be daft," he said, scowling.

"But you said - "

"I said _you_ wanting to go out with _me_ was ridiculous. I said it was silly to _discuss this._" His voice was gruff and he was still pacing.

"I don't underst - "

"You are too _good _for me," he said, eyes wild as he stared at her from where he finally stopped pacing across the room. "You're my _best friend_, which is more than I could ever even ask for. But dating me? That's ridiculous."

She opened her mouth to speak, cheeks red, but he cut her off.

"And not because of you. You're - " his face softened for a moment. "You're wonderful." He scowled again as his eyes went wild, as if he were in pain. "I'm not good enough for you, Granger."

"That's rubbish," Hermione said, finally finding her voice.

"Is it?" he asked, anger infusing his face. He stalked toward her.

"Yes," she said, voice steady, despite her racing heart.

With gentle fingers he gripped her wrist and held up her arm, pointing to the scars that spelled out _MUDBLOOD _on her forearm. "Remember this?" he asked, voice quiet. He stepped closer and she could feel his breath fan across her skin. "Remember when my aunt carved it into your arm and I just stood there and watched?" His voice broke. "Remember before that, me taunting you? Calling you that word for _years?_"

"Of course I do," she said, and he let her arm drop as if her touch burned him. "But I don't see what that has to do with now." She could still feel his lips pressed to hers from their too brief kiss. Brow furrowed, she touched her lips. "You kissed me," she said as if she were just realizing.

"I shouldn't have," he said with a sneer.

"Why?" Her voice cracked, hand falling from her mouth. "Becuase of our past?"

"Becuase _I'm not good enough for you_, Granger. And that scar proves it. How many times must I say it?" His sneer fell away and his head fell forward, shoulders sagging.

"And as _I_ said before," she said, straightening up her shoulders. "_That's rubbish_."

He looked at her from under his fringe of white-blonde hair. "Granger," he growled as he turned and walked a few steps away.

"For three weeks, I've been miserable," she said. He turned back to face her and she took slow steps toward him. "I was sure that you were disgusted by the very _idea_ of me, and now I find out it's all because you can't get past what happened _years_ ago." She laughed and shook her head. "Did you know that my favorite day of the week is Thursday? And it's all because I get to see _you_."

"It's my favorite day, too," he breathed.

"I like you," she said before taking a deep breath. "Regardless of what you think I should or shouldn't want, I like you. The question is," she looked at him, looked at her feet, then back to him. "How do you feel about me?"

"You're too _good _for me," he said, his voice nearly a whisper.

"That's not what I asked," she said, her own voice low and shaking lightly.

He sighed and closed his eyes, and when he opened them, she saw a new emotion there. He moved toward her, muscles coiled tight like a predatory animal. When he reached her he took a deep breath and locked eyes with her. He lifted one hand to brush hair behind her ear and she held her breath at the contact.

"You're my best friend," he said, his voice a low growl. "You're beautiful and smart. You're funny." He let his hand rest on her cheek. "And I like you _so much,_ it's all I think about most of the time."

Hermione laughed lightly as his warm hand cupped her cheek and the tension she'd been living with for three weeks snapped inside her like a rubber band before it dissipated.

"I asked you about seeing other wizards, because more than anything, I dreaded the day you told me about some man who'd gone and stolen your heart." He swallowed heavily and dropped his hand away from her face, but didn't step away. "When you asked _me_ on a date, I panicked." He shrugged. He was so close, she could feel his body heat. "I was going to ask you to talk to me about it when we were both sober because I wanted to take it seriously, to explain to you why you deserved better than me. But you kicked me out and I knew I'd messed everything up. I didn't want - " he sighed and reached up with both hands to cup her cheeks, stroking her cheekbones with his thumbs. "I didn't want you to say or do anything you would regret while you were drinking. Because I'm really not worth it, Hermione." He let his forehead fall against hers and her eyes drifted shut.

"Shouldn't I get to decide that for myself?" she whispered, and she felt his breath fan across her face. She opened her eyes and let her trembling hands move to rest on his waist. His eyes popped open wide.

They were still for a moment, and then Hermione moved - slowly, to give him time to move away if he wanted. Painstakingly slowly she lifted up on her toes until their lips were a breath apart.

"I choose you," she said, and then she brushed her lips against his - the opposite of his hard kiss from just minutes before, barely a touch.

He let her kiss him that way for only a moment before his hands fell from her face and wrapped around her body. She sighed as he deepened the kiss and she let her hands move from his waist to wrap around his neck. He held her, toes barely brushing the floor, kissing her lips, and when she parted her lips to deepen it further, he growled into her mouth.

Pressed together, they stumbled back toward the couch. Draco fell back, pulling her with him, and they landed with a huff. Hermione laughed as Draco released her lips and started kissing her jaw. He was lying with her body on top of his and his hands were skimming everywhere they could touch so lightly.

"Don't deserve this," he breathed against the soft skin beside her ear.

She sighed, relishing in the feel of his big, warm hands on her waist where they finally settled. She pushed up on his chest so she could look into his eyes. His pupils were blown wide and his lips were pink and she felt warmth coil in her belly that she'd done that to him. Leaning on his chest, she lowered so that her lips were brushing his. "This is what I want." She kissed him once. "You are what I want." Her voice was rich with emotion and he shuddered.

"I just wanted to protect you," he said tugging her down so that she was lying on his chest. He held her securely, lips pressed into her hair. "I'm not someone to be proud of." He kissed the top of her hair again. "But I want you, too. As selfish as that is."

"So," she said, smiling as she slipped her arms around his chest, eyes slipping closed as she listened to his heartbeat. "I want you, and you want me. Right?"

He sighed and his hands trailed up her back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "It appears so."

With a smile, she pushed herself up, hands on his chest, feeling as comfortable with that motion as if she'd done it for years. "Well, I think that means we should probably go on a date."

He stared at her for a beat and then laughed, releasing her waist to scrub his hands over his eyes once. "I suppose it does."

Hermione laughed and scooted up his chest, capturing his lips with her own. He growled against her mouth and sat, pulling her with him so that she was straddling his lap. He pulled her as close as he could and she melted against him, all laughter forgotten. His fingers slipped into her hair as her fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt.

"If we do this," he said between kisses. "I want to do it for real." He released her mouth and kissed her jaw, her neck. "I want to be good enough for you. To court you. To earn the right to be with you."

Hermione sighed and pillowed his lips with hers, feeling like all of this had to be a dream. "There's no time like the present," she said against his mouth, and he laughed low, causing her stomach to tighten pleasantly.

"Alright then, Granger," he kissed her and pressed his forehead to hers, hands still in her hair. "Care to join me for dinner tomorrow?"

With a smile, she pressed her nose against his. "I thought you'd never ask."

He sighed and with his arms around her waist stood, pulling her to standing as well. He slid his fingers between hers and, even though they'd spent the last little bit kissing, this simple act made her blush.

"But first, we have takeout to finish and I need to hear about your week." He pulled her toward the kitchen.

She laughed as he kissed her nose and then pulled out her chair. He moved to his own seat and cast a heating charm over their food, then picked his chopsticks back up. "Now, earlier I believe I asked you a question, and you never answered." He took a bit and then used his free hand to grab hers, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. "How was work?"

With a smile, Hermione took a bite of her takeout and wandlessly summoned a bottle of wine from the fridge.

* * *

An hour later, after dinner, they were back on the couch, just like every Thursday. Except, this time, instead of sitting on opposite sides, discussing things at a safe distance, they sat in the middle, Hermione tucked under his arm, cheek pressed against his chest. They talked quietly as he kissed her hair as she played with his fingers. They talked about where they would go to dinner on their first date, about how they would tell their friends.

In short, they sat, wrapped up in one another, talking about what their futures, not that they were entwined, would hold.


End file.
